


An Astonishingly High Survival Rate

by Ilthit



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Who Dies In Canon Lives and Makes Everything Worse, Gen, Vengeful Spirits, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: The expedition returns with only one member missing.





	An Astonishingly High Survival Rate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/gifts).

Sigrun takes the slap. Her fingers tighten into a fist, but she lets them loose in another moment. She deserved it, after all, and there is no dishonor in backing out of this one.

“He was my _child_!” the woman screams in her face. Icelandic is becoming more easier to understand.

“I’m sorry. We did all we could.” It’s Mikkel who says the words she should be saying, but shame clutches her throat tight. She missed that slithering thing slinking its way under the tank. She was in charge; she is to blame.

The husband’s eye is cold as he takes the woman’s shoulder and leads her away. At least he should have the decency to challenge her to a duel, but no, practically everyone in this stupid country is a civilian. The crowds close around them and Sigrun hangs her head, grits her teeth.

Mikkel’s heavy, large hand lands on her shoulder. Tuuri slips her little hand into hers. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says.

But it was.

-

“Yeah,” said Reynir, rubbing his neck. That’s where they said the rash first appeared in most cases, but his skin was still unblemished, both where he lay in his isolation bunk in the tank and here in dreams, standing on the water just outside Onni’s place. “Can… can you see it?”

Onni shook his owlish head grimly. He clutched a low branch on a birch tree, his head sunk low into his neck. “Tell me,” the owl grunted, “did you look it in the eyes?”

“Uh… no?” Reynir let the hand slide from his neck. “I’m not sure it had eyes. It just broke through, lashed at us, and the next thing I know Lalli’s put a bullet through its head.”

“And Tuuri?”

“She had her mask on the whole time. It never touched her.”

Onni’s beak dipped. He rearranged his feathers, stepped sideways on a branch. Reynir wished he was better at reading owl body language. At least the relief was still intact in Onni’s strangely human voice. “Good. Well done, Lalli.”

“Yeah,” said Reynir, wishing someone minded half as much that he was probably about to die. Certainly about to die. Lalli hadn’t been quick enough to prevent that. “Anyway. I wanted your help finding that old church. Although I guess it doesn’t matter so much now. I don’t know if the ghosts would even want to follow the others, and I… I guess I’m staying here now.”

The owl looked up, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Then the owl looked away. “I’m sorry. The world is a terrible place.”

-

Reynir stared at the knife in Sigrun’s hand, its hilt towards him. Tuuri’s hand slapped it away. Her hair was growing, sticking in every direction under her mask-strap now. “Not like that. Don’t be crude.”

“He should die fighting. That’s the way to Valhalla.”

“I don’t think I want to go to Valhalla,” said Reynir. “I’m not cut out to fight an army every night. Hel will do, I guess.” He wanted to cry, but he was all dried out already. His fingers went to his neck and scratched until it bled, flakes of skin under his fingernails.

“Reynir.” Tuuri seemed to be crying for him, at least. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Everybody’s sorry.” He couldn’t hold back the bitterness in his voice. He snatched the knife from Sigrun’s hand. “I’ll go now. Good luck getting home. Tell my parents…”

What, that he was an idiot? That he was the dumbest, stupidest, most ridiculous son they could ever have accidentally had? He hadn’t even been that good a shepherd. Just kind of okay. 

“Tell them I’m sorry too.”

They watched him stalk off, back down the road, towards a thicket of young trees growing on the road-side. He didn’t turn to look, but he could feel their eyes on him, and nobody said a damn thing.

The ghosts waited for him there, in the shadows. “Well, I’m here,” he declared to them, staring straight into the bleeding eye-sockets of that horse-shaped skull.

It turned away from him, its gaze on the back of the tank in the distance.

“No,” Reynir breathed. “No, look at me. Not at them. I’m the one you want.”

NO. The empty eyes shifted in his direction. YOU’RE THE ONE WE HAVE.

-

Reynir was running across the dark waters. It was strange here now, somehow louder and calmer at the same time. Things swam below him but passed him by. “Onni! Onni!” He skidded to a stop before the wall of birch trees. “It’s me! Let me in! I need help! Tuuri needs help!”

The trees would not part. Maybe Onni wasn’t even here.

Reynir sat down on the water, his back against that wall of bark. “Dog?” he called quietly. “Are you there, doggo?” 

Silence. He searched the horizon for a tuft of golden hair. “I guess you can’t come near now. I just… I thought I could make things better. And I wish I wasn’t all alone.”

He rubbed his eyes. Stupid things were stinging. He wasn’t going to cry just because he was alone and dying and the dark things were just biding their time until they could eat his soul.

There was a rustle, a whisper of leaves and bark. “Reynir.”

Reynir sniffed and wiped his face on his sleeve. “You remembered.”

-

Reynir ran across slushy snow, nearly tripping on the ridges of earth underneath, mud disturbed in the fall and frozen into shape. The owl flew ahead, it’s contour a mere suggestion of smoke in the air; ahead of it, a bright light, a suggestion of wings. “Are you—are you sure... we are going in the right direction?”

“No!”

“Oh, but...”

“Just run!”

Behind them, darkness screeched and rumbled, some of its creatures still on fire. Reynir threw another piece of paper over his shoulder, and it burst into flame not ten metres behind them. He ran faster. He didn’t have too many of those left.

Out into the ice, the darkness followed. His feet thudded on to the ice, leaving behind cracks. Back onto the road.

He must have been half-dead already, because his vision swam before him. An old church, rotten and ruined. Reynir had almost hit the wall before he realized it was real. “This is your last chance,” said the owl, alighting on a hanging beam. “I have to go now.”

Behind him the thundering evil—ahead, a strange light. And no owl.

Reynir pushed the remains of the door open.

-

“Have you heard from Onni?” Tuuri asks Taru after their escape from the reporters. “Does he know we were all right after all? I told him we would be.”

“Well.” Taru puts on a neutral face, and Tuuri does not like that at all. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you...”

-

Back in Mora, the IV drips like the rhythm of a slow drum. The patient’s chest rises and falls. He should be dead already, the nurses say. He was strong and healthy, says the doctor. He might hang on a little longer.

-

Over the dark waters, the owl is still searching.


End file.
